


Short Fics

by tunnelOFdawn



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunnelOFdawn/pseuds/tunnelOFdawn
Summary: A collection of Castlevania ficlets.Ch. 1: Țepeș impaled on the heart of grief (Alucard, season 2 ending)Ch. 2: fracture toughness (Hector & Carmilla, season 2 ending)Ch. 3: sacrifice AU (Alucard & Trevor)Ch. 4: for a prompt: How about alucard figuring out his abilities accidently walking into sunlight while dracula watches in horrorCh. 5: for the prompts thing: mb u could write alucard biting sypha and trevor and them all being Vamps together forever ?





	1. Țepeș impaled on the heart of grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief exploration of Alucard at the end of season 2.

He wants to fall asleep. 

Solitude destroys all walls. The tide of his grief, of his longing spills forth. Tears cascade down the slope of his face as he hunches over in his father’s chair. He clutches at his hair, at his face. The only anchor is himself. Phantom footsteps and laughter accompany his descent into sorrow. It’s the only sounds he hears in the room. 

He wants to fall asleep. 

He has learned, by now, to cry silently. As a boy, he used to have those shuddering sobs that would make a mess out of him. And that was fine because in the end, the crying was just another call for attention. It was a signal of wrong, wrong. It called for help and so he would receive help. His parents would console him—gentle caresses, embraces, and words. But now, there is nobody left in this empty home of his. Only him and his memories to populate this vast emptiness. 

He wants to fall asleep. 

“Come back,” he says. His voice does not waver as his eyes continue to well up. It is a harsh whisper that betrays all the ugliness festering in him. To rip out his heart would be a mercy. His all-too-human beating heart. His father had transmuted all his grief into rage, but he cannot do that. It is not in his nature to hate so fiercely that it would consume him. He is a quiet implosion. His suicide does not drag others down into a hellscape of his own making but rather destroys him in a silence so empty that light cannot penetrate it. 

He wants to fall asleep. 

He resents them and the rest of humanity. It is a guilty resentment that festers in chest. Mother would not like it, but he cannot help it. Surely she must understand why. She was good at that—understanding. 

He wants to fall asleep. 

Let him drift away free and unencumbered in the grasp of slumber. Let him abandon all responsibilities for his grief. Let him abandon his mausoleum—their mausoleum, Belmont and Țepeș alike. 

He wants to fall asleep. 

Why should he stay behind whilst they gallivant away? I am too good a liar, he thinks. So good that his… _ friends  _ should so easily leave. They looked back, of course, but how could they comprehend what they could not see so visibly? Too empty to observe much of anything. There is a void in him that hungers so much that it becomes no hunger at all. The thought of existence leaves him so weary. 

He wants to fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable at [my tumblr tunnelOFdawn](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/post/179758109649/ficlet-%C8%9Bepe%C8%99-impaled-on-the-heart-of-grief).


	2. fracture toughness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief exploration of Hector and Carmilla at the end of season 2.

He looks at her in contemplation of all that has gone wrong. There is a perverse relief suffusing through him—the loosening of muscles. In being so wholly bound and dragged, there is a freedom from control. In her ownership, she renders him inhuman. It is a realization of all his desires. 

“Pet,” she calls him. “Puppy,” she names him. Her hands graze across bruises. The coolness of her smooth skin makes him lean in. The heat of pain and inflammation quiets down beneath her touch. 

The caul of deceit disintegrates in the coolness. He whimpers. When, and not if, she beats him again, he will come back. His mistress of feline malice reigns over him and drags him by the reins. 

Claws rake through waves of ash. The force of her hands ought to release a cloud of ash but she always pulls back just in time. She is good at this, he knows. The precipice of preservation and destruction does not waver beneath her feet. He crumbles. 

Subjected to enough stress, any material fractures. He is cracked ceramic whose cracks propagate until brittle fracture. There is no beauty in his destruction. It is sharp and loud—an announcement of an ending. 

She gives him a new beginning. His mistress gives him purpose. He loves her as the hammer does the nail. 

He knows not what he loves. The clarity of her features renders her lovely. But that is only flesh. To strip away her beauty would be to reveal the void underneath. She hungers for more than blood. To look further is to open a forgotten box and watch maggots wriggle out. He does not want to know further. Let her seal shut impenetrable. Her hunger would devour worlds if given enough power and opportunity. Hers is a grotesque beauty. 

He looks at her but she does not look back.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable at [ my tumblr tunnelOFdawn.](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/post/179847341679/ficlet-hector-carmilla-fracture-toughness)


	3. sacrifice AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate universe - no Dracula conflict.

“I come as sacrifice,” Trevor Belmont states baldly. He hunches in his fur cloak with all the fury of a puffed-up bird. He mantles. An unsteadiness undoes all his unconscious attempts at intimidation. He sways as unsteady as a man returned from sea—unused to land and pleasantly surprised to find it so steady beneath him. A flush lends a rosy cast to his face but his eyes are clear. His hands clench at nothing in a spasmodic tic better suited for the conveyance of alcohol.

“How funny,” the vampire sneers, “I don’t think your loss is much of a sacrifice to the village.” His gaze rakes across Trevor in all his alcoholic disrepute. An arched brow completes the ensemble of disdain. Were he more expressive, a sigh might have escaped him. But as it were, his eyes only betrayed him.

“ _Well_ ,” Trevor says, “it’s the fucking principle of the matter, isn’t it? A sacrifice is a sacrifice. So, come now, invite me in, my lord.” He smiles. If the world was interested in accuracy, he would be the vampire with that maw of his that emanates danger. It would be inaccurate to call his smile human. There is something that lurks in that void that which does not harken back to man.

“A Belmont at my door with no fight left in him,” the vampire muses as he lingers in the doorway. “My, what troubled times you must have fallen upon.”

“The world cannot abide by the heretical, _Țepeș_ ,” Trevor says with a wry twist to his lips and the cadence of a wealthy upbringing.

“Would you die for those who persecuted you?” The vampire watches the human on his doorstep with considering eyes that find him wanting. It scrapes and scrapes only to find bone long decayed. There is nothing beneath that fleshy veneer—devoid of all hope and vitality.

“For fuck’s sake,” Trevor groans out. “I’m not here to debate. _Me_ , sacrifice. _You_ , vampire with fangs.” Helpfully, he makes a hissing sound and bares his teeth. (It doesn’t really help. Alucard is embarrassed— _for_ the Belmont.)

“Half-vampire,” Alucard corrects. “And I think you’re more alcohol than blood at this point.”

“Shame,” Trevor says insincerely. “ _This_ ,” he pauses to gesture at himself in all his dishabille, “is all you’re getting so why don’t you act like the monster you are and then finally fuck off from this village.”

“And what’s to stop me from staying? Once you’re dead, who could even try? I don’t quite think you thought this plan through, if you were even thinking at all,” Alucard says. He looks into Trevor’s eyes—a sustained eye contact that does little to indicate much of anything in the man. This is a man grasping at death, Alucard knows. Any flimsy excuse is latched on with the determination of a man seeking refuge from churning waters and hanging on slippery rock. For all that he is here under duress, there is a resignation to Trevor that surpasses the normal.

Death does not welcome Trevor Belmont on this day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable at [ my tumblr tunnelOFdawn](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/post/180180190994/ficlet-trevor-alucard-sacrifice-au).


	4. my love was born in the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for a prompt: How about alucard figuring out his abilities accidently walking into sunlight while dracula watches in horror

“Lisa,” Vlad exhales. In his voice, there is all the reverence of a supplicant finally meeting his god. There is something hushed and awestruck in that exhalation.

“No, Vlad,” she says hoarsely, “Adrian.” Together, they gaze adoringly at the tiny babe ensconced in her arms. A tuft of blond hair sticks up. A large hand smooths it down tenderly. He is dumbstruck by the size difference of hand and head.

* * *

“Come to mama,” Lisa croons. Her voice is soft and sweet, gilded in sunlight warmth.

“Come to…papa,” Vlad commands. His voice is awkward and imperious, gilded in moonlight coolness.

They stand on opposing sides.

Adrian promptly bursts into tears. The strain of making a decision manifests in his sobbing.

Lisa and Vlad freeze up for a long moment before rushing over to embrace him.

* * *

In the castle, the curtains are drawn tight across the windows. Artificial light serves to illuminate the scene of a woman near a tall door, a boy clinging to his mother’s skirts, and a man standing in stilted awkwardness.

“Oh, Adrian,” Lisa sighs, “let go of mama’s skirts.”

“No!” Adrian squeaks out. His age renders his anger unintimidating. The pout lining his mouth does little to dispel the image of a youthful tantrum.

“I have work to do,” Lisa says.

“Take me with you!” Adrian demands. His hands tightens alarmingly around his mother’s skirts. He gives a little tug and in the silence of the castle, the tearing sound of a rip echoes. Sheepishly, he retreats and shakes out the fabric from his hands.

“ _Adrian_ , apologize to your mother,” Vlad commands.

Tears well up in Adrian’s limpid eyes as he stares back at his father. He spares a glance at his hands—too strong for his mother. “I’m sorry, mama,” he sobs. His body shakes with the force of his crying.

Lisa spares Vlad a remonstrative glance before kneeling down on Adrian’s level. In her arms, she encloses her son in a secure embrace. She lets him cry. Vlad has always been terrible at comforting crying people. He always wants to solve problems instead of indulging momentary weaknesses. To let someone cry without doing anything is anathema to him, but Lisa—she knows when to allow wounds to drain instead of stitching them up.

* * *

They watch Lisa walk outside. Vlad shields Adrian from any hint of sunlight slithering through the momentary gap of doorway and door.

* * *

“Adrian! Where are you?” Vlad shouts. His voice echoes and receives no reply. And then suddenly, the sound of small footsteps reaches his ears. An instinct of danger, danger wells up within him. He swoops down only to watch Adrian swing open the door in the front entrance. Adrian puts his vampiric strength to ill use.

The door swings open and then there is light. Adrian had forgotten the existence of sunlight in his search for his mother. He whimpers as a beam of light touches his outstretched arm. All his parents’ lectures come to the forefront of his mind.  _Do not go into the light, Adrian,_  they had said.  _You will get hurt._

For the first time in centuries, fear paralyzes Vlad. Adrian, he mouths soundlessly. My son!

But death does not come for Adrian on this day.

Only the realization of how alone and unique Adrian is comes to fruition.


	5. rest and then rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompts thing: mb u could write alucard biting sypha and trevor and them all being Vamps together forever ?

“Forever?” Sypha says.

“Why not?” Trevor asks.

They lean into Alucard, sandwiched between them. He takes solace from their presence—takes courage that he is no longer alone.

* * *

“My ancestors are rolling in their graves,” Trevor mutters. He continues to bare his neck to Alucard’s attentions. He shivers at a flick of tongue.

“Trevor, I’m sure they were rolling long before this,” Sypha says. A sly smile curves her mouth. She watches avidly as Alucard widens his mouth, all the better to bite and suckle. Finally, fangs pierce Trevor’s throat. Alucard’s throat works around the blood pouring down his throat—a bobbing motion of his Adam’s apple. Yes, there is something of the forbidden in the motion.

For the first time in a long while, Trevor is quiet. His eyes flutter shut and he only rouses at the sensation of blood pouring down his throat. A hand massages his throat. He gurgles something indistinct but the tone of it they interpret as his characteristic snark.

A pale hand smooths down hair across a sweaty forehead. “Rest,” Alucard says, “and then rise.” He looms over Trevor for a moment before gently settling him on the bed. He turns to face Sypha. The playfulness in his expression morphs into a sort of gentleness. Sypha tames them and incites them. They, in turn, invigorate her.

“Come closer,” Alucard says. He pauses at Sypha’s inaction. “Please,” he amends. A sheepish dip of his head prompts Sypha’s movement closer.

As bold as Trevor, Sypha bares her neck. She indulges Alucard’s need for intimacy. Sypha and Trevor could have chosen any other body part to begin the draining of blood, but they know of Alucard’s hunger for more than the carnal and the carnivorous.

Fangs prick soft skin. Alucard sighs into her neck. He pauses in the bloodletting to fully savor the sensation of warmth in his mouth. Sypha cradles his head in her hands, as if to plunge his fangs deeper.

“Alucard,” Sypha urges. Alucard obeys. He watches her eyes flutter shut. He reopens the wound in his arm to coax blood into her mouth. He massages her throat to make sure she swallows. It would be the height of tragedy if all this only killed them. Without them, the path of Dracula lurks shadowy and indistinct in his peripheral.

Alucard repositions Sypha and Trevor side by side. By dawn, the conversion will have finished. They will wake up groggy and cringe from the sunlight. But he hopes that his blood will forestall any adverse reactions to the sun. His lovers were born in the sunlight and he has no wish to stifle them in moonlit radiance.

They slumber together in bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to constructive criticism (like dialogue, characterization, etc.) and very open to kudos and comments. 
> 
> Also on tumblr as [tunnelOFdawn](https://tunnelofdawn.tumblr.com/). I post fic previews and drabbles on there now. Also, I'm always looking for blogs to follow.


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